


Inheritance

by JulietsEmoPhase



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Bottom Draco, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietsEmoPhase/pseuds/JulietsEmoPhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accidental billionaire Draco meets adorable book publisher Harry. </p><p>Muggle AU Drarry fluff, ends with snuggley fluffy smut. Written to celebrate 300 followers on Tumblr! xJx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, so there was a photo on Tumblr of Tom Felton looking pensive in a suit with the caption "Accidental billionaire Draco Malfoy". And because I'd had a glass of wine and was just starting the new season of suits, I like, tripped and fell and accidently wrote this first chapter. I have no regrets. 
> 
> It didn't quite feel finished though, so here we are a week later with two more chapters of fluffy silliness that I'm not even sure has a point, but I very much enjoyed writing it, so hopefully you'll enjoy reading it!
> 
> Credit goes to April, Leia and Sara (@expectopatronum, @diydrarry @ourloveislegendrarry) for the initial inspiration, thank you ladies! Also dedicated to @shy-pie26 for being my 300th follower!
> 
> xJx

Inheritance

 

I

 

   “But what do I do with this!” Draco all but shrieked, flailing his arms at the obscene amount of corner office space he was apparently supposed to…office…from. Who knew Great Aunt Morwenna had such an empire to her name, or why on earth she thought her brother’s niece’s uncle’s son was fit to inherit it.

   Pansy Parkinson, his sparkly new PA who he was rapidly falling in love with for her lip gloss alone arched a contoured eyebrow. “Send memos,” she suggested. “Check emails. Order rent boys and writhe around in piles of ten pound notes.”

   “That,” said Draco with a click of his fingers. “Can we put that on the agenda?”

   Parkinson rolled her eyes, which Draco hugely respected, seeing as every single other person he had encountered since he had traversed the elevator to the thirty-sixth floor of Heron Tower had scuttled away and refused to even so much squeak at him. This girl had sass, she was getting an immediate pay rise.

   As soon as he worked out how to do that.

   Three days ago he had been in a perfectly drunken haze at one of Oxford’s more reputable bars (and they were hard to find, he had done his research.) Now, now he was staring at chrome and glass fixtures with price tags he guessed would eclipse his monthly rent.

Draco rubbed his tongue over his teeth. That kind of attitude made him sound common – he had hardly lived in squalor his whole life – it was just it had always been his parent’s money, and when he’d flown the nest, he’d imagined amassing his own wealth, not having it dumped on him like some reality TV star.

   And it wasn’t like he’d gotten into Oxford because of anything so vulgar as money. Or connectionseroHeronconnections. Or power. _Ptsh!_ Half of his fellow Etonians had equal amounts of that. Draco Malfoy really _loved_ the study of history, his A-Levels had been a doddle, and had been perfectly content to coast through his under-grad years in _The Rose and Crown_ pubuntil he was required to actually muster up some original thought on the French Revolution in – hmm – about three years?

   Instead, he had literallybeen whisked from his bar stool at 3am by a downright terrifying private security firm, and informed that his Great Aunt Whatever had tragically passed away during ‘negotiations’ with the Lithuanians, and now, he, Draco Malfoy, had control over a large chunk of the ‘Family Business’.

   A quick consultation with his mother’s lawyers had left Draco with a vague, hungover concept of a (surprisingly) legitimate and lucrative book publishing company that also had close ties with Hollywood and the BBC. He strongly suspected, as soon as the ibuprofen had started to kick in, that he was simply the _cleanest_ member of her family his aunt could find to lump this particular business on in the event of her tragic passing.

   It could have been worse. Although Draco himself was confident his parents were on the straight and narrow, you didn’t have to wander too far off the family tree to find those with tax free incomes, and, seeing as he didn’t have much of a choice about this inheritance, he was relieved at least not to have to worry about Revenue and Customs breathing down his neck. There were several restaurants and even a bowling alley he was very glad to had skirted clear of.  

   And so yesterday on the drive down to London, he had checked his bank balance on his many-months-shattered iPhone, only to discover his account now had almost as many zeros to it as Draco had years to his name.

   Many, _many,_ coffees and a new, non-broken iPhone later, he stood in the damnable office, looking down over Bishopsgate and trying so very hard not to be overwhelmed at being the youngest and least qualified person in the building by a long shot. The cleaning staff probably had a better concept of how books got made than him at that point, plus, they had the added advantage of knowing where all the loos were, which Draco would need to learn if he was going to hide as much as he suspected he would need to.

   The view was incredible though, stretching out over East London, and if he took a moment to appreciate things, that wasn’t the only perk he’d knew he’d be getting. No rent, no travel fees, fuck, even his entertainment costs could comfortably be taken care of under the company umbrella. He blinked in the early morning sunshine, watching the minuscule cars trundle by, and figured he should focus more on the bright side.

   He just felt tired though. He was an utter fraud, a stupid _child_ waltzing into a world of adults just because he had the right name. Most people would jump at the chance of being thrown a seven figure sum, Draco appreciated that. It was only…it didn’t seem like he had much say over what he did with it, at least not so far. It wasn’t like he’d won the lottery, he couldn’t travel the world, or even chuck it all into charities. No, he was just worthx amount, and the company had y, and the stockbrokers could invest z. It was all meaningless. He felt like he could have been sick in his mouth.

   Instead, he shook himself, straightened the bespoke suit he’d picked up from Savile Row that very morning, and smiled at Pansy. “Your 9am is here,” was what she said instead of acknowledging his quip about the rent boys, flicking her eyes purposefully to the door of his glass fronted office.

   A man a few years older than Draco was waiting in the corridor, eyes to the ground, rubbing his palms anxiously. Of everyone here, he was by far the scruffiest person Draco had seen; his brown loafers were lifting slightly from their soles, his tan jacket had obviously been sourced by the local teacher’s union boot sale and his glasses were evidently NHS prescription.

   It was love at first sight.

Draco coughed, loudly, importantly, like people who inherited large companies were supposed to do. “Who is that?” he asked as casually as his could. “Surely board members don’t want me meeting with randomers alone, without any of them present?”

   Parkinson sighed. “That _is_ a board member,” she said patiently. “Harry Potter? Almost single handily responsible for the revolution in pre-teen literature and the fantasy genre in general in the past few years?”

   Draco blinked at her. “So, he’s made magic…cool?”

   Parkinson’s glare could have made a glacier give up and go home. “You could say he’s the reason we’re all here.”

   “Right,” Said Draco. “Excellent. Um, what does he want?”

   Parkinson inhaled, then kindly placed her hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Honestly?” she said. “I just think he wants to make sure you’re not going to fuck him over.”

   Draco’s jaw dropped as she waltzed out and winked – _winked_ – at this guy Potter, allowing him permission to come into his office.

He had only a moment clear his throat, step back, and think how much better the walls would look if he had something intimidating and seriously fucking old hanging from the brickwork to prove he wasn’t a bloody child in his great aunt’s shoes. Tribal masks, ancient bones, good lord even signed tea-trade negotiations would have made Draco felt slightly more in command of the situation at that point as the stranger – Harry Potter – slipped into his office, and looked at him with the determination of a rabbit about to tell an anaconda who’s boss.

   “Mr Malfoy,” he said, running one hand down his lapel, and pushing his glasses up his nose with the other as the door swung shut with a click. “Thank you very much for meeting with me.”

   Draco exhaled and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. “It’s no trouble at all Mr Potter,” he said, bumping his hips off the desk to skirt around in and slump in the brand new leather seat. “What’s on your mind?”

   Potter took a breath, stealing himself, then spoke again. “You can’t slash the young adult budget.”

   Draco blinked. “Huh?” he said, sound every inch nineteen-going-on-twenty.

   Potter rubbed the stubble along his jaw line, and Draco’s libido flipped thinking about how exquisite it would be to kiss along there. “People are writing it off as a fad, but it’s not, and I can’t stand by and let this company’s successor demolish the program without fighting my corner.”

   He had a fractious energy to him, this Potter guy, massaging fingertips together like he was warming up to play the piano, pacing the office and ignoring the chair that had been proffered to him.

Draco, however, just sighed, and tried to look about his sparse desk for any clue as to what this man was talking about. All he saw was empty wire racks and a blank computer screen where he had neglected even to turn the beast on yet. “Young adult?” he said instead, sinking a little lower into the leather seat.

   “The YA audience,” Potter rasped, vaulting towards him, waving his hands. “Is the most lucrative, it’s growth in the past three years alone-”

   But Draco waved him off. “You’re talking about _The Hunger Games,_ right? I’ve read that.”

   Potter went a little slack. “Yeah,” he said. “You could argue that’s a forerunner in the genre, but it’s so much more than that.”

   Draco tapped a finger on the wood of his desk. “So…you’re worried I’m going to take money away from you?”

   Potter blinked and pulled at his sleeve. “That was the proposal, yes.”

   “A proposal to cut funding to books and authors targeting the teenage audience?” Draco clarified, and Potter nodded.

   “Please,” he said with a huff. “You don’t need to do this, I have several astonishingly good writers lined up, you’ll see a real difference in-”

   Draco laughed. “I’m not taking any money away from you,” he said.

   Potter went very still. “But the quarterly budget-”

   Draco curled his lip and waved his hand. He’d seen people do that behind desks on TV. “It’s my company now, and I don’t see starving our next generation’s imaginations as a sound investment.”

   Potter was resting his hands on the edge of Draco’s desk, and at that, they dropped and gripped the edge.

   “Do you really mean that?” he asked. He had really beautiful green eyes behind those thick black glasses, Draco couldn’t help but notice. But he was older, part of his board, and Draco had a million problems with the business to address before he would probably ever be allowed to think about his love life again.

   Especially with this guy.

   “I’m a man of history,” he told Potter, very much hoping he sounded like a man and not a floundering teen, but honestly believing his words. “History is just a collection of stories told by the most eloquent, and usually the victors. If we can’t get kids telling stories, or at least _believing_ in them, then what’s the point?”

   Potter stood gawping at him for a second. “Yeah, I mean, yes, my sentiments exactly.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt collar. “I’m sorry, I seem to have disturbed you for no reason.”

   “Oh no,” Draco said cheerfully. “I have no idea what the actual budgets are, or who I need to talk to to stop that happening – someone might very well have decided to take all your cash away. I’m just saying-” and he grinned. He even licked his lips. “I’ll do everything I can. I won’t let your department fall – I’d be nothing if I never daydreamed after a good book.”

   Potter – Harry – relaxed in palatable relief. “Me neither.”

   Draco opened his mouth, faltered, then reasoned. He was in London now, in charge of important shit. He wasn’t sure _what_ exactly yet, but he was in a position now that afforded certain luxuries. “Excellent,” he said, sitting up in his leather chair and lacing his fingers. “I’ll have my PA organise a time and date for a lunch meeting, so we can get this all cleared up.”

   Harry touched his thumb to his lower lip, and smiled from under his lashes. “Thank you Draco,” he said sincerely. “I look forward to it.”


	2. Chapter Two

Inheritance

 

II

 

   A couple of weeks later saw Draco slumped down on his desk, staring morosely at his computer screen as he jealously flicked through his friends’ photos on Facebook. They didn’t seem to understand when he told them he’d much rather be scrimping a few quid together to make it down the union, rather than up on the thirty-sixth floor. All they could see was money and power, they didn’t seem to want to hear he still had very little clue what he was supposed to be working on, and with nothing much to do, was bored out of his mind.

   His only respite had come in the form of the adorable, passionate, if not slightly clueless Harry Potter, who Pansy had managed to get Draco on not one but two lunch meetings with. All Draco had to do was ask what books he had been reading, and he could watch the whirlwind that Harry became for at least a couple of hours as he rattled through his new favourite characters and writing styles, and almost-spoilers that he reigned back in at the last second because “Oh no Draco, you’ll _have_ to read it first!” Draco was sure he was supposed to be doing something productive with that time, like establishing annual departmental profit margins or assessing the overheads compared to outgoing costs, but honest to god if he didn’t more or less study Harry’s lips the entire time.

   Movement beyond the glass of his office had Draco snapping back up to attention, just in time for Pansy to stride in and drop a bound file on his keyboard. “The board are having a meeting,” she said coolly.

   “When?”

   Parkinson pressed her well manicured hands together and checked her watch. “In about ten minutes.”

   Draco’s stomach dropped. “Was I invited?”

“No,” said Parkinson.

   “What’s this then?” he asked, picking up the couple dozen sheets of ring-bound paper.

   She gave him the smallest of smiles. “Everything you need to know about the meeting, in handy colour-coded bullet points.”  

   Draco could have kissed her. “Did I ever tell you you should be running this company?” he informed her, ginning like an idiot as he hurriedly cracked open the first page and yanked several highlighters and post-it notes from his drawer.

   “I think that was the first time today,” she said with a wink. “But it’s only 11:20.”

   Draco spent the next five minutes in a blur, absorbing every fact his study-starved brain could manage, cross-referencing with a few quick Google searches and several shouted questions to Pansy at her desk outside. He hadn’t had anything challenging to do in ages, this was wonderful, he felt positively electrified as he grabbed his iPad and marched down to the main conference room, strolling inside just as the last of the eight department heads were getting seated.

   “Good morning,” he said chirpily, snagging the chair nearest to him before he could fret about established seating arrangements, and smiling pleasantly at the men and women before him. A number of them raised their eyebrows in surprise, but one or two glowered in outright hostility. Gabriel Fox, the Financial Director and oldest member in the room, was the most unimpressed of the lot, crossing his arms over his broad chest and lowering his gaze, creating so many additional chins his bowtie was in danger of being swallowed up entirely.

   Draco was obviously the youngest in the room, but he wasn’t going to let that derail him; he had every right to be there, and thanks to Pansy he had a solid heads up on what was on the agenda. The only other person close to his age was Harry, and while a couple other people had tablets like Draco laid out in front of them, Harry had a notebook, several lose sheets of paper, a couple of novels open at certain pages with their spines bent back, and pens in blue, black, green and red, one of them clamped between his teeth, another hastily scribbling notes. He blinked, noticing the atmosphere had shifted at Draco’s entrance, before looking up to spot Draco himself. He snatched the pen from his mouth and gave him a tight smile and a nod, which Draco returned enthusiastically.

   “We didn’t think you’d be joining us, Mr Malfoy,” Fox grunted in a way that clearly suggested he deliberately hadn’t been invited, but that just spurred Draco on.

   “Ah yes,” he said, firing up the page of notes he’d made on his iPad. “Little mix up with the calendar I guess, luckily my PA caught it, she’s outstanding, I’d really be lost without her.”

   Fox and the woman in her fifties beside him both arched an eyebrow to suggest exactly what they thought of Draco’s competence, but he ignored them. He’d already negotiated Parkinson’s pay rise, so they could scorn her and him as much as they liked.

   “I guess we should get started then,” announced the head of marketing, and Draco’s quip was forgotten.

   In fact, that wasn’t the only thing of Draco’s that was ignored as the older managers ploughed down their list of reports and targets. They tried their best to shut him out entirely, which on the whole he found quite amusing. He didn’t have all that much to add as the minutes trickled on, so he let them drone on about new regulation guidelines and several clients they’d recently acquired in the education sector. Everything they put forward more or less tallied up with the information Pansy had provided for Draco, so he just nodded and gave a few affirmations every few sentences. This earned him some sceptical glances but he didn’t care if they thought he was bluffing or not, because he wasn’t.

   “The quarterly budget has been established,” Fox announced in blasé terms. “Despite a few queries I think we’re comfortable to leave the proposal as it stands.”

   Harry went to open his mouth, but Draco very calmly beat him to it. “I assume that includes the new figures I sent you over some time last week?” he asked.

   “Last week?” Fox repeated, feigning ignorance, which riled Draco but he didn’t let it show. Instead he gave him a reassuring smile.

   “Yes,” he said. “On Wednesday I think?” It had been Wednesday at 14:36, in fact. Draco hadn’t had any other work to do, so he had carefully put the new young adult proposal together with extra attention to detail, and he’d got a confirmation email to let him know his message had not only been received, but opened. That was a little trick he’d learned back in sixth form that he doubted this old dinosaur was aware of.

   “Ah,” said Fox with a shit-eating grin. “Well, I do apologise, I don’t seem to have had that passed over to me, so I don’t think at this stage-”

   “No matter,” Draco interrupted, tapping merrily on his tablet. “I’ve resent it to you all, you can check your inboxes if you like, or alternatively…”

   The TV screen mounted on the wall at the end of the room sprung to life as Draco hooked up remotely with his own device, and brought up the document in question, illustrating a brightly covered pie chart on the first page.

   “My concern was that the cuts to this budget seem in direct conflict with the growth we’ve seen in the market over the past five years.” He wiggled his cursor around to highlight the data that backed up his statement, then clicked onto the next slide. “In all genres, fiction novels targeting ages fourteen to eighteen have experienced a 150% jump in the past six years, and recent studies have shown that the actual readership is far outside that target audience.”

   Fox was apparently recovering from having his meeting room hijacked and was turning a lovely shade of puce. “This data is not new to us, Mr Malfoy,” he growled. “However this is a _serious_ publishing house, it always has been.” He shot Harry a dirty look, then continued to bare down on Draco. “The hiring of Mr Potter has led to a certain… _dalliance_ …but the rest of the board feel it is time to redistribute and reinvest profits in the key areas where we have always flourished.”

   “So YA does all the work,” Harry jumped in hotly. “And everyone else reaps the benefits?”

   Fox reluctantly turned back to Harry, and Draco felt his blood heat up in anger purely from the look on his face. “Your pulp fiction about schools of magic and romances in toxic wastelands may have earned the company a small margin of increased profit, it’s true,” he sneered. “We saw no harm in following your lead to a certain extent after your initial success. But without any real _quality_ to back up these investments, the board cannot responsibly continue to steer publishing in the direction of cringe-worthy ramblings of authors with no training, style or panache, just aspirations of hoping on the latest Hollywood trend of _‘Boy Meets Girl in La La Land’.”_   

   Draco was taken aback by this level of hostility, but ploughed on never the less. “The numbers speak for themselves,” he began, but the woman by Fox’s side barrelled in.

   “This is not purely about profit, My Malfoy,” she said witheringly. “These books may have sold well in the best sellers lists and been traded to screenwriters for a profit, but this kind of work is simply not what our company wants to be known for.”

   “Series like these,” Harry cried, brandishing one of the books he had propped in front of him. “Change people’s lives. This is _exactly_ why Morwenna brought me in to head this department, because none of you have the imagination to see that teen audiences need heroes, they _crave_ them! They rely on worlds like this to get them through the day, to help them aspire to be better, to do better in their lives!”

   He looked almost tearful, and Fox sneered. “Well,” he said patronisingly, and Harry visibly swallowed across the table from Draco. “I’m afraid Morwenna is no longer with us, and those of us that remain are forced to live in the real world, where successful people do not need hobbits to coax them out of bed in the morning, they simply have the backbone to accomplish genuine success as men and women of good sense and learning.”

   “Excellent,” said Draco happily, ignoring the hurt look Harry threw his as he skipped a couple of slides ahead to the most important graph Pansy had sourced for him. “I guess if we’re all to live in boring old reality, and scrap the hugely lucrative YA program, we can scale down the managers’ bonuses this upcoming April, as well as the company Royal Ascot days and six figure charity gala next month.”

   The collective faces of the room dropped in a most delightful manner.

   “Excuse me?” asked the head of marketing, pulling at the necklace around her throat.

   “Oh yes,” Draco beamed at her. “If we want to continue this rate of year-on-year profit, as well as expand the genres the company has traditionally published – medical journals, travel guides, historical biographies and the such, cut backs will need to be made.” He blinked and gave Fox a look a faux concern. “I assume in your dismissal of teen fiction you’ve taken into account the disposable income of audiences without families or mortgages that contribute to the unprecedented YA success, as well as the power of online fandom that leads into media tie-ins and demand for sequels on par with even the most successful authors in the genres such as thriller and crime?”

   Fox glanced about the room. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your sources from,” he stuttered, but Draco just waved a hand back towards the screen above their heads.

   “I can break it down further for you,” he offered pleasantly. “But it basically comes down to this Mr Fox. If you want to carry on having your second home in the New Forest, your 911 Porche, your kids in private schools and holidays abroad with your _mistress_ , I think you’re going to have to put up with publishing a few books you don’t like just because they’re not to your _personal_ taste. Is that clear enough for you?”

   In his whole life Draco had never felt so satisfied as he did looking at the stunned faces before him. He couldn’t honestly believe he’d managed to get all those words out without tripping over a single one, or that his research last week had really paid off. He’d not expected the board to be so resistant in the light of such clear evidence, and he silently said a prayer to his old school debate master for helping him not crumble under the pressure of having to argue his case against all these adults.

   He still sort of felt like being sick though, but he smiled his way through it.

   “Well,” said Fox, the puce shade to his skin having drained away to a more minty-green colour. “We will have to review your proposal again Mr Malfoy,” he said gruffly, straightening his bowtie and standing from his chair. “This company has certain, er, responsibilities to its employees, and if striping back the program would have such consequences as you’ve outlined, I guess, yes, we could take a second look?” He nodded to the other managers as they stood and made their way out, some of which looked equally pasty, but some Draco couldn’t help but think were throwing him impressed glances. The head of erotic fiction gave him a barely concealed thumbs up as she skirted out the room, and Draco grinned back at her with a sense of victory in his chest.

   “I’ll have my PA get in touch about a revised budget review, shall I?” Draco asked Gabriel Fox as he waved a hand and stormed out of the conference room. He chuckled and spent a moment or two disconnecting the remote link between his iPad and the computer screen, by which time he realised everyone else had left the room.

   Everyone, that was, except Harry, who had scooped up all his paraphernalia and was now sat back in his chair, hugging it to his chest. “That was incredible,” he said hoarsely.

   Draco felt more nervous than when he’d been attacking Fox and his ludicrous proposal. “Well, you know,” he said, trying to pass the waver in his voice off as a laugh. “If they’d just read the report in the first place, all of that could have been avoided.”

   “Yeah, but that wouldn’t have been half as fun to watch,” Harry replied, pushing his glasses back up his nose from where they’d slipped down, and grinned.

   Draco laughed, and got to his feet to move towards the door as Harry did likewise. He reshuffled his papers and pens until he had a hand free, and held it out for Draco to shake. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I owe you so much.”

   Draco shook his hand and relished in the warm skin to skin contact. “It’s nothing,” he said, but that sounded dismissive, so he quickly elaborated. “I mean, you’re welcome, it was my pleasure.”

   Harry pulled his hand back and hugged his paper again, worrying at his lip. “I’d like to make it up to you though,” he said. “I guess it’s not appropriate – I never seem to know what’s appropriate around here – but, well, I’ve very much like to make you dinner next week?”

Draco swore the floor dropped out from underneath him. It must have shown on his face, as Harry quickly backtracked.

   “No, I mean, that wouldn’t really be proper would it, I guess-”

   “I’d love to,” said Draco firmly. “I haven’t made any friends in London yet, and this seems a perfect opportunity to fix that.”

   Harry looked bashful. “I think you already have,” he said, sweetly. “How does Wednesday suit you?”

   Draco beamed at him. “Wednesday suits me just fine,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! xJx


	3. Chapter Three

Inheritance

 

III

 

   Draco stood nervously outside the small block of flats in a pleasant residential street in Caledonian Road, twisting the bottle of wine in his hands and staring at the buzzer panel like it might come to his rescue. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, this wasn’t a business meeting. This was a date, a proper, grown-up date. And for some reason, despite a lifetime of unshakeable confidence (and not to mention a recent avalanche of cash) he was worrying himself into a bit of a state. All because of one slightly clumsy, rather doddery, dark-haired beauty with a penchant for books written for adolescents.

   “Courage, Malfoy,” he hissed to himself, and rang the doorbell.

   There was a responding buzz and the lock clicked open, allowing Draco to push inside the front entrance into the dim corridor. The stairwell it led directly onto spoke of the council building these flats had probably hosted in a former life, and it made Draco a little uncomfortable. It had occurred to him that he could have offered to take Harry out to dinner somewhere extremely extravagant, but he had seemed so keen on cooking Draco had let it slide. Now, as he made his way up to the fourth floor, he was wondering if he’d made the right decision.

   He shook himself and halted outside Harry’s door. He was being a snob. Just because the exterior was a bit shabby, didn’t mean the inside wasn’t lovely. Much like a certain book publisher…

   He rose his hand to knock, but the door flew inwards before he had a chance. “I was starting to worry you’d got lost,” Harry grinned, standing aside to let him in. He was wearing brown cords and a cream shirt with the sleeves rolled up, over which he’d tied a splotched apron, and, oh dear lord, he was wearing a pair of battered old slippers that for some reason made Draco’s heart flutter like a damn hummingbird.

   “Sorry,” he said bashfully, but Harry was still grinning.

   “Come in come in,” he said, ushering him over the threshold and taking the bottle of red wine Draco held out to him. “Oh, wow, this is very nice,” he said, inspecting the label as he closed the door. In front of them was a small but long kitchen with a serving hatch opening out to a relatively large sitting room and dining area to the left. To the right down the hall Draco could see a bedroom, study and bathroom. It wasn’t large, but the piles of books scattered literally _everywhere_ gave it an immediate sense of cosiness that relaxed Draco somewhat.

   “I’m assuming we have Parkinson to thank for this,” Harry said with a wink, shaking the wine.

   Draco arched an eyebrow. “Actually,” he said honestly. “That’s one of my favourites, I had to track down a specialist wine shop in Blackheath to find somewhere that stocked it.”

   Harry’s grin faded into something more intense as he looked back up at Draco, like he was studying him. “Really?” he said, looking back at the label. “Well, I approve.”

   He placed it on the counter top and went back to the hob at the end of the kitchen, stirring a sauce bubbling in one of the several pots he had on the heat. Draco shrugged his jacket off and looked for somewhere to hang it.

   “Here, try this,” said Harry before he got a chance, spinning around with a wooden spoon dipped in the creamy looking sauce, holding it up for Draco. Goose bumps flurried over his skin as he looked between Harry’s green eyes and the spoon, feeling like this was overtly intimate, but Harry just looked happy and relaxed, eager for Draco’s reaction, so he leant forward and touched his lips and tongue gently to the wood.

   “Blimey,” he said, and blinked in surprise. “That’s amazing.” He licked his lips and swallowed the remnants of the peppercorn sauce.

   Harry smiled in relief, then spotted Draco’s jacket in the crook of his arm. “Oh, sorry,” he said, taking it hurriedly from him and opening a door to a utility closet to hang on a peg. “Kick your shoes off too if you like,” he said, heading back into the kitchen to tend to the stove and oven where the delicious smells of dinner where gently wafting from. “There’s spare slippers if you’d like a pair,” he added, waving at the collection of footwear discarded haphazardly by the front door. “I hate being barefoot.”

   The kind of people Draco had hung around for most of his life would consider slippers to be the height of uncool, and the idea of wrecking your own kitchen with the flurry of activity Harry was currently employing in his quest to make their dinner positivity uncouth. But Draco was feeling a squirming in his insides at this simple, unabashed intimacy. Testing Harry’s homemade sauce and swapping his £300 shoes for Harry’s worn-in slippers felt special in ways a fancy restaurant could never manage.

   He was nervous all over again, his heart thrumming in his chest. He could do this, he wasn’t an average nineteen year old, compared to his peers, he was an adult in more ways than one. And honestly, what could he do to embarrass himself in front of Harry, who seemed as unpretentious as they came? But still, he struggled to find anything to say, so slipped his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. “Did you want to start with a beer?” Harry asked, turning and pulling the fridge door open on Draco’s left. “I’ve got this Belgium stuff that’ just delightful.”

   “Sure,” said Draco, and watched as Harry spun back around with two cold bottles, popping the lids off and decanting them into tulip stemmed glasses.

   Harry took a breath and stilled as he offered one to Draco. “Cheers,” he said, clinking their drinks. “Thank you for coming over.”

   “Thank you for the invitation,” Draco replied, taking a sip and hoping for some Dutch (or Belgian) courage. “Like I said, it’s not exactly been easy trying to meet new people.”

   Harry was already back adding butter to a hot griddle. “You’re life’s changed quite drastically I guess,” he said sympathetically, tipping the pan so the sizzling butter ran over all the ridges.

   Draco laughed and wandered into the sitting room area. He could still see Harry through the serving hatch in the wall above the corner sofa hiding under a couple of dozen throw pillows and fluffy blanket that looked so soft Draco couldn’t help but reach down and touch it. It sent shivers down his spine.

   “That’s a bit of an understatement,” he admitted, letting go of the blanket reluctantly and glancing over Harry’s floor-to-ceiling, room-length book cases. He immediately thought of the famous John Waters quote: _“If you go home with somebody, and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ‘em…”_ This made him blush and gulp down another mouthful of beer.

   “Morwenna must have seen something in you though,” Harry said thoughtfully, as he carefully added the two steaks that had been resting on the counter to the hot butter, making them hiss and spit in a mouth-watering way. “I’m guessing you’ve not had much experience running a company before, so there must have been another reason?”

   Draco sighed. “I only met her a few times,” he admitted.   How much did he want to admit about the nature of his family’s dubious business arrangements? “I guess she thought a lot of this company, and wanted it to go to someone who would give it their full attention.”

   Harry leaned his elbows on the partition between the two rooms and nodded. “That sounds like her,” she said. “She didn’t care about things like a person’s age, she cared about their heart, what she liked to call ‘gumption’. She liked people with fight and integrity.” He glanced at Draco, suddenly shy, and ducked back into the kitchen to poke at the steaks and stir his sauce again.

   “Sounds like you knew her pretty well?” Draco asked, sipping his beer. It was quite strong, but he didn’t really mind that just then. He was already feeling looser.

   Harry shrugged. “Pretty well,” he said. “I was an intern when I first met her. She wanted to know why someone who hadn’t bothered to get a degree thought they knew better about book trends. I told her I just did, and she supported me with my first pitch.”

   “That went well I take it?” Draco asked, pulling out an interesting looking volume below a framed photo of Harry with a proud looking older man and a big, shaggy dog. His dad maybe?

   Harry was smirking when Draco glanced back, eyes firmly on his stakes. “If you consider several million pounds as successful then, yeah, not bad.” Then he did give his attention to Draco, a marginally more sober look on his face. “I was about the same age as you I think when that happened, so if I can survive in that shark tank, so can you.”

   That left an opening for Draco to ask a question he’d been dying to know the answer to; Harry was frustratingly absent on social media so the usual stalking channels hadn’t helped Draco thus far. “How old are you now then?” replacing the book.

   “Twenty three,” said Harry, flipping the steaks, then laughed at the obvious surprise on Draco’s face. He’d been thinking at least twenty seven. “I know, I know,” Harry said with an eye roll. “I think I’ve secretly been forty since I turned thirteen, I keep hoping this middle-aged chic will pay off, but so far it’s just making me consider getting a cat.”

   Draco laughed, but once he’d got over his shock he’d realised this was actually brilliant. There wasn’t so much between them age-wise after all, and suddenly he didn’t feel so nervous.

   “Well, I’m the trust-fund brat who everyone seems to expect to blow the company’s riches on hookers and cocaine or whatever little Chelsea fuckboys do these days,” he said, coming back to rest on the kitchen doorframe again. “Honestly, re-writing your budget was the only useful or interesting thing I’ve been able to do since I got pulled from uni.”

   Harry leaned against the worktop and sipped his own beer. “I can’t thank you enough for that,” he said. Draco tried to wave him off but he shook his head earnestly. “No, they’ve been looking for a chance to bully me out since I joined, and with Morwenna’s passing-” he swallowed in genuine remorse. “They didn’t even allow a minute to grieve before they were conspiring how to pull my funding.   And I may know about books, but finance – _ptsh!”_ He laughed. “Not a chance. So, yeah, thanks.”

   He chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced coyly at Draco, before going back to the hob.   Draco rubbed the back of his neck and finished the last of his beer. “Well, if it weren’t for you I think they’d have a good case for arguing I have about as much value as a garden gnome, and if they ran me out how do you think my great aunt’s company would fare then? I think we both owe you for giving me something to care about.”

   Harry opened the oven and pulled out some heavenly smelling potatoes. “Alright,” he conceded, pleased. “We’re even. Now make yourself useful and open up that obscenely expensive wine you brought us.”

   “Who says I brought it for you?” Draco joked, finding a cork screw and wine glasses with ease in the small kitchen. He didn’t mind if they were going to brush over what they had already done for one another, he felt like rehashing it would sully it almost. “I just didn’t want to end up drinking cheap plonk from Sainsbury’s.”

   “Hey,” cried Harry, untying his apron and dishing up the potatoes around the steaks and steamed veg. “There’s nothing wrong with Sainsbury’s I’ll have you know.”

   Draco pretended to gag and Harry swatted him with the oven gloves.

   They had dinner on Harry’s little table at the end of the living room, once Harry had cleared off enough piles of paper to find the place settings that was. He put on some music that Draco didn’t recognise but that was pleasant and unobtrusive as they tucked into his truly scrumptious meal. Draco wasn’t much good at cooking, but Harry obviously took great delight in it, and Draco savoured every bite as they chatted merrily away, slowing working their way through Draco’s wine.

   On Harry’s recommendation, he had read a couple of the books Harry had refrained from spoiling for him on their last lunch meeting (date), and they spent a good hour or so hashing over their merits before the conversation naturally wandered off into other areas. Draco found out Harry’s parents had passed away when he was a baby, and he’d been raised by his godfather (the man in the photo with the dog, so Draco had been close). Draco had been troubled to discover his orphaned status, but Harry seemed resigned to it.

   “I don’t really remember them,” he said with a sigh. “But Sirius and their other friends did a really good job keeping them alive in spirit for me. So, I don’t know, I guess I feel like they’re still here in a way.” He got up and found another photo frame amidst his sea of books, and showed Draco another dark haired man with a red-headed woman holding a small baby.

   “That’s you?” Draco asked, a lump threatening in his throat. He didn’t like to think of Harry being left alone before he was even old enough to walk.

   But Harry leaned over him, resting one hand on Draco’s shoulder and touched the frame with the other. Draco’s breath hitched. “It’s okay,” he said. “I mean, I wish I could have met them, but I know I was loved.”

   Draco gave the photo back, and Harry took the opportunity whilst he was standing to venture back into the kitchen for another bottle of wine and for a cheesecake that helped drag Draco’s thoughts back into a much happier place.

   “I think you’re probably still loved,” Draco said, emboldened by the wine as Harry cut them healthy slices of dessert and doused it with cream. Harry smiled and bit his lip.

   “Well, I consider Sirius my family, and I’ve got a lot of great friends back home in Exeter, but,” he trailed off, shrugging as he began opening the next bottle of wine. “It’s not been easy in London, especially at work. I’m…well a bit of an oddity as I’m sure you noticed.”

   “Why do you think I was drawn to you,” said Draco playfully, holding up his glass for Harry to refill. “We’re both weirdos.” Harry chuckled, a lovely sound over the wine glugging from the bottle. “How did you manage until now though, if it was so lonely?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t pushing too far. “Why not change jobs, move back home?”

   Harry placed the bottle onto the table and regarded Draco from under his coal black lashes. “Come here,” he said with a jerk of his head, picking up his glass and moving to the balcony door, opening it into the night.

   Draco picked up his glass too as they stepped out into the nippy air and leaned side-by-side on the small balcony’s rail. The view didn’t exactly contain any landmarks, but it spilled out for miles and miles, the rambling city streets stretching out until the light twinkling from windows and street lamps blurred with stars visible on this unusually clear evening. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

   “This is why I can’t leave,” said Harry warmly, sipping his wine. “London may be messy and huge and a shambles, but I feel so at home here, it’s like it sings to me.” He raised an eyebrow at Draco, as if daring him to challenge him. “There’s so much history seeped into these bricks, so many stories to be told by so many people in so many tongues, I feel like, even though I’ve been a bit adrift, the shore is there in sight. I just needed a lifeline to pull me back in, and then I’d really be a part of it all.”

   “And you think book publishing is your lifeline?” Draco asked, thinking maybe Harry’s words made sense. But he shook his head.

   “No,” he said, turning from the city to look at Draco. “I think you are.”

   For the second time that night, Draco was pretty sure his shock showed clearly on his face as his stomach did the loop-de-loop. Harry quickly looked away, biting his lower lip and taking a too-big gulp of his wine. “Oh gosh,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, that, that really wasn’t appropriate, I keep forgetting you’re my boss, and you’re younger than me, and I’m not quite sure what’s worse, and, just forget I said anything.”

   Draco’s heart was thumping like a jackhammer, but the part of him that was terrified was far outweighed with the part that was elated. “You know what’s worse?” he said, bumping shoulders, then feeling extremely pleased when Harry looked up, his green eyes like orbs behind those thick black frames. “What’s worse is if you wasted these past few making fall me head-over-heals for you, got me all alone with all this romance, and then didn’t kiss me. I think _that_ would be quite the travesty.”

   Harry had sort of frozen with a look of disbelief on his face. Draco grinned wickedly, and leaned in, as if his words weren’t crystal clear enough. Harry’s breathing had increased, and Draco was seriously worried about the grip he had on that wine glass he was dangling precariously over the balcony edge. But really, what did it matter, when they were only inches away, then closer, then…

   Oh fuck it had been worth teasing him. Draco fell into Harry’s kiss with the fervour of any of his favourite book protagonists, revelling in everything it had taken to bring them to this moment. His lips were soft and his tongue was strong, and before he knew it Harry was dragging his hands through his hair, pulling him in deeper and stumbling them both back into the living room.

   “Are you sure?” Harry panted, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. “I don’t want to take advantage of you?”

   Draco hauled him over and pulled them both onto the couch with the impossibly soft throw rug, dislodging several cushions as they landed. “How about I take advantage of you then?” he suggested, grabbing both their glasses to set them safely on the nearest shelf, and hungrily pulling Harry back into him, tangling them together as he rolled his body along Harry’s, seizing a fistful of his shirt, and massaging their lips together so ferociously he was slightly fearful of drawing blood.

   Harry said London made his heart sing. Well Harry made Draco’s heart sing. He was a breath of fresh air through the smog, an electric kick in a dusty landscape. He couldn’t seem to get close enough, wrapped in the fluffy blanket, ensconced in squishy pillows and soothed by Harry’s dulcet choice of music, Draco felt like he was drifting, pulsing, pinned satisfyingly under Harry’s weight as hands explored and kisses wandered.

   “I want you to make love to me,” Draco whispered. Sure; he’d shagged, he’d fucked, he’d been pulled into other boys rooms and he’d been blown in back alleyways, but he was pretty desperate in that moment for Harry to _love_ him. This felt spiritual, essential, warm, soft and downright delectable.

   Harry gasped and pulled away, his pupils smashed wide with want that spurred Draco on. “Please,” he murmured, taking _full_ advantage of Harry and not caring one bit.

   Harry grabbed his hand and yanked him upright, crashing into another kiss as they fumbled down the corridor, clothes being tugged out of place and strewn with disregard, the bedroom door kicked shut behind them, the last of the clothes removed hastily under the moon and streetlight winking through the open curtains and they dropped onto the bed.

   “Yes,” Draco breathed as Harry’s hands found his arousal, as their bodies gyrated as one. His mouth began working down Draco’s body, his wet kisses leaving a cool trace down Draco’s skin that made him shudder as a warm mouth found his cock, and he shouted out with disregard for the neighbours. He fisted the bed sheets, worshiping silently as he built and built, grabbing Harry’s hair at the last second, gnashing his teeth and coming with a jerk and a twist.

     He panted, eyes up to the ceiling as Harry slowly crawled back up his body, more kisses laced tenderly on his skin, until they were snuggled back under the duvet, so much skin pressed together as Harry’s mouth gently found Draco’s once more. Boldly, Draco pulled back slightly to reach for Harry’s glasses and remove them, bathing in those eyes still so emerald in the pale light beyond the window. “Can you still see?” Draco asked, his voice a little shaky.

   Harry gave him his sweet smile. “I can see enough,” he whispered demurely. Draco didn’t tear his eyes away as he fumbled and deposited the glasses on the bedside table, praying he didn’t scratch or break them. He ran his hands over Harry’s arms and chest, up his neck and through his hair as they fell back into their kiss, soft, slow, tender. Their bodies were pressed flush against one another, undulating at a tortuous pace that nevertheless had Draco’s pulse increasing again and his blood pumping back down to his groin.

   “Do you want more?” Harry asked, hands caressing up the back of Draco’s thighs, cupping the curve of his backside, pulling them impossibly closer together.

   Draco wasn’t sure he could quite form proper words. “Yes,” he managed to rasp, dizzy with desire. “God, yes, please.”

   But Harry just carrying on kissing him, rocking their bodies in one, fluid motion, like the gentle lapping of waves on the beach. A lifeline, pulling them into shore. Then, slowly, he nudged his shoulder and kissed down his neck. “Turn around,” he whispered, and Draco did as he was told, whining like a puppy as their contact was briefly broken, cold air whooshing in under the covers as Harry arched his body and groped for a the drawer on his side of the bed. But Draco could see what he was reaching for, so turned back around and cuddled into the pillows, waiting patiently for the warmth to return.

   Sure enough, Harry’s chest rubbed back up against his back and the duvet was wrapped around them once more. But a new, slippery coldness found its way between Draco’s cheeks, making him gasp a little then laugh and bite his lip.

   “Sorry,” Harry breathed hoarsely into his ear, his fingers massaging Draco’s entrance. “It’ll warm up in a sec.”

   “S’okay,” he said, lifting his head a few inches so Harry could slide his other arm under and cuddle them closer. Draco took that hand with one of his and squeezed it tight, his breaths coming out short and heavy as Harry began to push with one of his fingertips. “Yes,” he begged. “Yes, yes like that.”

   Harry pushed further, until he was fully inside, and Draco pushed back against him, loving the sensation. Harry was kissing up and down his neck and shoulders, the tip of his own erection brushing softly against Draco’s back as a second finger was added and the slow, magnificent rhythm continued. He was rock hard again, and Draco couldn’t help but touch his own arousal, just holding it as Harry worked him tenderly.

   “Hmm,” Harry hummed, sucking his earlobe. “You look incredible.”

   “Feels so good,” Draco rasped, shuddering as pre-cum slicked his hand.

   A third finger managed to squeeze in beside the others, and Harry gradually picked up the pace. Draco restrained himself, keeping his own strokes slow, wanting to hold on for as long as possible. “Can I have you, Draco?” Harry asked, and if he didn’t just come at the sound of his name from Harry’s mouth.

   He nodded in the dim light, eyes screwing shut as he concentrated. “All yours,” he gasped. “I’m all yours.”

   The fingers slipped away and Draco throbbed with longing for their replacement. Harry didn’t waste any time now though. He hitched Draco’s top leg over his own hips, spreading him wide and guiding the tip of his hot cock into Draco’s wet and waiting hole, filling him up gently with a burning fullness that made Draco drop his own arousal and clutch the bed sheets in his fist. Harry’s now free hand snuck round though and began to caress Draco’s stiff erection as he pulled in and out, working Draco back and front into a writhing mess.

   Draco couldn’t see straight, spots of light were dancing in front of his eyes as he moaned and shuddered and pleaded for Harry to never stop. Their bodies ran with sweat that drenched the sheets and duvet, sticking every possible inch of them together as their climaxes built. “I can’t,” Draco cried, unable to hold on any longer, and Harry responded with a deep and hard assault that had Draco screaming his name into the pillow, his orgasm shooting into the blankets cocooned around them.

   Harry pounded him for a few thrusts more, before digging his fingers into Draco’s hips, holding him tight as he found his own climax deep inside Draco, nestling his face into the nape of his neck as he came down from his release.

   Draco was so spent he almost dozed off, still full of Harry, tangled in his limbs, soaked in the aftermath of their lovemaking. “Are you okay?” he asked though, slipping free and nudging Draco awake until he turned round and let Harry cuddle him face to face.

   Draco grinned sleepily and rubbed their noses together in an Eskimo kiss. “Sticky,” he teased, and Harry laughed.

   “Come on,” he said, pulling Draco and trying to get them out of the wet bed. Draco whined and pouted in protest, but Harry was having none of it. “Come on,” he instated, tugging at Draco’s hand and successfully removing him from the saturated bed sheets.

   The flat was still mostly dark from where they’d had diner by lamplight, and Draco liked that. It kept up the magical element to their evening as Harry ushered him into the bathroom, draping a towel over his shoulders and sitting him on the closed toilet seat. “Wait here,” he said, turning on the shower and planting a kiss on Draco’s forehead. He was very comfortable in his nakedness as he went back out into the flat, and Draco was happy to eat up the image of his glistening skin as he disappeared from view.

   He didn’t have to wait long before Harry was back with a lighter, and he made short work of the dozen or so candles that Draco hadn’t even realised were scattered over the surfaces. The room was hot with steam now, and Harry closed the door so as not to set the fire alarm off (that would have been a _most_ disappointing end to the evening.)

   “Come on mucky pup,” he said, taking both of Draco’s hands and standing him up again, letting the towel fall to the floor. The water was just the right temperature as they slipped under it, washing away the mess they’d happily made of each other between Harry’s sheets. Harry was a bit shorter than Draco, but it seemed easy for him to take charge of both their bodies, soaping up the pouf and lathering every corner of their skin with warm, slippery bubbles. And then there were the kisses, the light, tender kisses that never stopped. Unlike before though there was no urgency, these kisses were calm and sweet, sure and possessive. An unspoken certainty that whatever this was between them wasn’t going anywhere.

   Draco let Harry wash his hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp as he closed his eyes, allowing the water and suds to just run in rivets down his wonderfully aching body. He was pretty sure he was in heaven.

   Afterwards, Draco enjoyed letting Harry fuss, towelling them both dry, a process hindered by the many stops for long kisses and soft fingertips trailing along skin. If they had been any more awake it might have led to a second round, but unfortunately that wasn’t on the cards just then. Draco could be patient though. At least by the time Harry went to fetch them boxers and t-shirts, their hair was dry again.

   Finally, when Draco thought he could no longer stand from exhaustion, he found the candles being blown out and himself being pulled back into the living room, wrapped up again in the impossibly soft throw rug and cushioned by the pillows Harry had piled back up on his expansive sofa. Harry flitted around, closing the balcony door from where they’d abandoned it earlier, warming the room instantly. He turned off the music and the rest of the lights, leaving them in almost total darkness as he snuggled back in beside Draco in their pillow nest, spooning himself in beside Draco’s longer form.

   “You think we can be a little late tomorrow?” Harry asked, already dozing off from the sounds of it, and Draco squeezed him in his arms.

   “I’m the boss,” he assured him, stroking his hair and rocking them slightly. “We can take the whole day off if I fancy.”

   Harry hummed in agreement, before his breaths became steady and deep, and his grip on Draco slackened. Draco knew he wasn’t far off sleep himself, but in the late night gloom, he could just about make out the lines of Harry’s beloved books, and the edge of the curtains that hid the far-reaching view of London.

   A few weeks ago he had become utterly lost, floundering with no direction, unsure if he would be able to survive this unexpected transition.

Now, nestled in Harry’s arms, he was pretty sure no place had ever felt more like home.

 

 

 

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! xJx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing, visit www.helenjuliet.com


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